Unexpected Warmth
by LadyGadfly
Summary: In the middle of their wretched first winter together, Diaval sees the first hints of warmth in his mistress. Written for Maleval Week Day 4: Cooking for the Other (& Sick Day).


Their first winter together as mistress and servant was miserable.

Diaval keenly felt the absence of his feathers as he walked to his mistresses home in the ruined castle. The bitter wind seemed to blow right through him as he trudged through the snow, numb fingers grasping the strap of the satchel he carried. He was seriously regretting his decision to offer his services to his mistress.

Human bodies were truly disgusting. Not only were they entirely featherless, and more importantly _wingless_, they also had this grotesque face hole and snout in the middle of their faces. A thoroughly inelegant arrangement. The cold was making Diaval's nose run and he thought longingly of his beautiful sharp beak.

The stone was slippery with frost and he nearly tumbled down the stone steps into the cellar. His mistress looked up from where she was tending the fire. That was one thing in favour of this place. It may be perilous to get to and look damn forbidding (but then, he supposed, that was probably why his mistress had chosen it) but thanks to a roaring fire and more than a little magic the cellar was actually quite cozy. Green moss carpeted the floor and a fire was always kept burning in the centre of the room. He had his own little nest in a corner and his mistress had hers in an adjoining alcove. One he was forbidden to go in to. Not that he'd want to.

His mistress barely looked up from the fire as he came in.

"Well?"

Diaval removed the satchel and placed it at his mistress's feet. He warmed his hands by the fire as she rifled through the contents. As an animal he'd always been leery of fire but in human form it was oddly comforting. His fingers and toes tingled as feeling came back to them.

"Is that it? That's all you could find?"

"It's the middle of winter, mistress." Diaval moved closer to the fire. It didn't really seem to be warming him as much as he would like.

"Yes but really? That's it?" His mistress snapped. She was pulling out the few meagre scraps of root and herb that he had been sent out to find. They weren't particularly rare, but the frost had killed off most of the plant life and the ground was almost impossible to dig. Especially with his bare hands. He'd scraped both of them raw trying to do so.

"Y-yes." He shuddered and move even closer to the fire. He couldn't seem to stop shivering.

"Oh for goodness sake, Diaval. Couldn't you at least...what are you doing?"

"Trying to get warm mistress."

"And you intend to practically crawl into the fire to achieve this?" She raised a pointed eyebrow in disdain.

"Cold, mistress." Any other time his pride would gnaw at him for letting himself sound so wretched in front of another. But right at that moment his stupid featherless body wouldn't stop shivering, his stupid nose wouldn't stop leaking and his stupid teeth were chattering.

His mistress frowned, standing to walk over to him. She placed a hand on his forehead and Diaval went very still.

"Hmm."

"What, mistress?"

"It seems you were in the cold for too long. You're sick."

"_Sick_?" Diaval rasped incredulously. His stupid human throat was getting sore now as well. Although he actually kind of liked how it sounded. Closer to his gorgeous raven call than usual. Then his eyes widened in alarm. "You're not going to leave me are you, mistress?"

"What? Why?"

"Well, usually when one of the flock gets sick..."

"They get left behind?" Her voice was softer.

"They fall behind. And get...picked off." The slightest frown appeared between her eyes.

"Of course I'm not going to leave you behind." She rolled her eyes and moved back to the satchel. "Get in to bed."

"What?"

"Has that stupid cold stuffed up your ears already? Get. In. To. Bed. You're no use to me sick."

Diaval stiffly stood up, made his way to the pile of blankets that served as a nest and collapsed in to it. His mistress was moving around by the fire muttering something that sounded like "idiotic crow". He really must be ill, he thought, because he couldn't find the energy to correct her about his beautiful self being a raven, not a dumb crow.

Huddling into the blankets some more he raised his head enough to see his mistress gather a cooking pot, a flint knife and a board. She took the roots from the bag.

"What are they for, mistress?" He never usually made idle conversation with his mistress but he was feeling oddly in need of company. His mistress looked at him for a long moment with those piercing green and gold eyes. A slow smile finally spread over her face and he wished he hadn't asked.

"This?" She held up one of the roots she had tasked him with collecting. "This can be used in a spell to bind a person from doing any harm to another living being. This" She picked up another root. "Can be distilled and used in a potion that will make the drinker speak nothing but the truth until it wears off. And this" Her grin grew wider as she held aloft a spring of herb. "This is very interesting. Gather enough of this and you can create a tincture that shall paralyze the drinker until they are fed the antidote." She grinned evilly as Diaval shrank beneath the covers, his eyes wide. "It's also pretty good in soup." Diaval blinked.

"Huh?"

"I'm not going to poison you, you stupid bird." She went back to cleaning and chopping the ingredients from the satchel along with others from their store of food. "What would I do for wings then?"

He watched her in silence for a long time. She added water and the ingredients to the pot, stirring every so often and adding more herbs to taste. The soup smelled really good. He wondered if he could ask for a little of it. He'd not had much luck finding his own food lately. But then she poured the entire contents of the pot into a single bowl and his heart sank. Maybe not.

To his great surprise she walked over and crouched, shoving the bowl under his nose.

"Eat."

"What?"

"Oh for goodness sake. I swear it won't harm you in any way. Just eat it." She dumped the bowl into his hands and sat with arms and legs crossed. Diaval gingerly took a sip. It was delicious and it wasn't long before he had drained the bowl entirely.

Taking the bowl from him, his mistress frowned.

"Your hands are freezing." She looked around for a second before picking up a leaf from the floor and letting her magic wrap around it. The leaf grew and unfurled into a large, soft blanket, which she presently threw over him.

She took his hands again and started to rub at them, stopping when he winced. She looked at his hands closer and her jaw tightened.

"What happened to your hands, Diaval?"

"Digging for roots, mistress." He tried to remove his hand from hers but she held tight.

"You did this to your hands because of me?" Her voice was measured and calm but Diaval could see anger lurking in her eyes.

"Yes mistress, I'm sorry I didn't mean-" He tried to take his hands away again.

"Please stay still." He stilled instantly. It was the first time she'd requested anything from him rather than ordering it. Placing his hand between hers she let her magic flow over it. It wasn't the sickly green light he'd seen when she'd screamed in rage at Stefan's coronation. It was golden and pure, warming his skin. She took his other hand, repeating the process. Raising his hands to his eyes Diaval flexed them in wonder. They had been completely healed.

"I can't cure your illness as easily I'm afraid. Human sickness and magic tend not to mix well. I also can't change you back into your raven form until you get better. I have no idea what this illness could do to a raven body and I'd rather not risk it. You should get some rest." Her voice was soft as she stood, taking the bowl and banking up the fire before she made her way in to her own room.

Diaval was exhausted. He would have liked nothing more than to curl up in to a ball and sleep for hours, hopefully feeling less terrible in the morning. But in spite of his exhaustion sleep would not come easily. He tossed and turned, failing to find a sleeping position that was comfortable. His stuffed nose made it difficult to breathe, his joints ached, his head pounded.

He must have made more sound than he realised because footsteps came through from his mistress's room and looking up he could see her imposing shadow looming over him. Her arms were folded, her foot tapping impatiently.

"I couldn't sleep." His voice was small and stuffy.

With a sigh of disgust she sat down beside him, grabbing the blankets and arranging them about him in a more comfortable manner. Then she raised a hand, hesitating for a second before stroking his hair.

He stilled once more as he had done when she had checked his temperature. She'd stroked his feathers a few times when he was in raven form, but she'd never touched him in human form. The part of him that was still a wild animal balked at it. He wanted to bolt, draw himself away from all contact with this non-raven. And yet, another part of him found it rather pleasant. Her hands were gentle, slowly and rhythmically carding through his messy black hair.

And then she started singing. Her voice was soft and low, singing words in a language he didn't recognise and Diaval wondered sleepily if there was magic in fae song.

He couldn't understand the contrasts in his mistress. It was plain to see that she was feared throughout the moors, hated by some of the inhabitants, even. Yet she had the loyalty of the tree warriors, the most noble and honourable of all the moorland folk. She seemed cruel and uncaring, yet regularly patrolled the moors healing the land. She seemed like she did not value him beyond a simple servant, yet there she was nursing him back to health, singing to him.

It was a conundrum that troubled Diaval until sleep finally took him.

They do not speak of it next morning, nor any day after that.

* * *

It was a week later that Diaval was woken by the sounds of his mistress's screams.

He woke with a squawk, back in his raven form since he was all better. He debated flying through to her room, not wishing to overstep his bounds, but another scream pierced his ears and he flew to her side.

His mistress was twisting on her bed, arms raised as if fending off an invisible attacker. Her breathing was ragged, her face contorted in pain and fear.

He swooped over and landed at her side, in two minds as to whether or not he should wake her. He squawked softly.

She sobbed, hands clawing at the air above her.

"Stefan, please. Please stop." Tears escaped her eyes. "_Please_." Something wrenched inside Diaval and he squawked louder, now certain he didn't want to see her like this any longer.

He squawked and flapped his wings at her until she opened her eyes, staring glassily at him for several minutes.

Tears were still running down her face, and he carefully tried to brush his wing against her cheek to wipe them off. It was dark and he was fairly certain he poked her in the eye with one of his pinions but she gave a short breath of laughter and thanked him anyway.

Her fingers trailed over his feathers, which seemed to soothe her. She eventually slipped back to sleep.

* * *

"It's not good for a faerie to be surrounded by so much dead stone, mistress."

It was the next day and they had not spoken of the previous night's incident. Until now. His mistress fixed him with a look that made the temperature in the room drop.

"Maybe...you'd feel better...in the fresh air?" Diaval shrank back. This had not been his best idea ever. But he knew instinctively that he was right. Animals and fae both needed to be in nature. Not in hewn stone buildings of man's making.

"We are not moving."

"But don't you think-"

"_No_." Diaval bowed and turned to leave. It had been a long shot. He was nearly at the door when his mistress had blurted it out. "I don't like them looking at me."

He turned in surprise. "Mistress?"

"The moor folk." Her posture was proud and erect, but her white knuckled hands grasping onto her robes spoke of underlying tension. "I just...can't stand them staring at me all the time. Like this." She took a deep breath. "But perhaps you're right. When spring comes we shall look for a new dwelling. One without walls. How does that sound?" There was just the tiniest hint of a smile in her eyes.

"That sounds wonderful, mistress."

Diaval had heard tales of her kindness and love for the people of the moors. He had often wondered what exactly had happened to make her so angry and bitter. He still couldn't quite figure it out, but he knew one thing for certain. He had made the right choice offering to help Maleficent.

* * *

_Author's note: I'm not terribly happy with how this one turned out. It feels a pretty ooc to me but the idea was too cute to pass up. That and I was running out of time to get this up in time for day 4. So yeah. Not a lot of time for rewrites.  
_

_This story takes place before Aurora's birth.  
_

_The song Maleficent sings is 'Einini', a traditional Irish lullaby. Look it up on YouTube, there are some nice videos of it being performed. The reason I chose this particular song? Check out the english translation of the lyrics in my profile.  
_


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